[x]

thesisi feel awful in a way.

here, let me tell you about this-
i have a boy who is like
a needle on thread,
strung on me
like a clothesline;

he is tireless
and shelled,
hidden within his
carapace,
unyielding;

a different body
whistling from down
the hallway,
shedding my skin
as he mends
his own;

and another,
a paper bird
with handwriting
like shards of glass
and a soul
like a tree,
warm roots growing
into the streets.

i have my own heart
buried halfway between
the mountains and georgia,
the only state
where even atheists
can believe
in god-

but georgia
is not enough,
and finally,
i can see that
neither are you.

bulldozeri am a poet -
or at least,
i was.

(i am lying.)

i tell myself
i have never wanted anything
more than you,
but i have:

i have loved with my whole heart,
every inch of my body,
every ounce of my soul;

i have taken time and care
with my eraser,
rubbing out the distance
between where my heart lives
and where my body lies in unrest.

i actually let myself believe you
for a couple of seconds,
did you know that?
i felt like you loved me.

i didn't want to get up
and i didn't want to move out of the rain,
i just wanted to sit in your car
in these clothes
forever
because that night was the last time i'll see you.

two days later

nonfiction love songi am eaten by the sun
holes worn in my clothes
from the radiation,
burning a hole
in my stomach
as harsh as the acid
ebbing and flowing,
oceanic,
around the isles
of my teeth.

like an old sweater,
i am unravelling by my threads;
caterpillars breaking
through cocoons,
never metamorphosing
into the butterflies
they could have been,
the very same
as you and me.

now that i have put you
inside of this jar,
chrysalis sticking fragile
to the copper lid,
you have become
someone i could love.

i hold you like a lamb,
tight to my chest
so that my air
is your air,
and our breaths hit
the same measures.
we are synchronising

body languagei listen and you cough
from down the hall
you are whistling
and i can still hear
your throat's identity
shuddering in each note.

it bothers me
that i know you like this.

i shouldn't be able to
wake up and find you
next to me.

i shouldn't feel my face
pressed against your chest,

i shouldn't feel my shirt and bra
cushioning the top of my head
like a makeshift pillow.

i am not who you want,
so you are not who i want.

still,
i put on my clothes
with the intention of you
taking them off.

still,
i'm sorry i don't
know how to love my body
but still want it
with yours.

still,
sex is a way to be close to someone.

it's a w

renewalyou are small,
yet unchanged
an infant
in stature;
in heart,
an empire.

please,
if you can,
love me;
i am white washed on the shores,
the grains of sand clinging
to your skin until it glitters.

i will start fires,
if it means something to you;
i will scrub my hands
if my blood is your currency.

i have folded under the bends
of your effort,
your being pressing into me
just by the weight i feel
in my heart.

to hear your voice
is to hear a melody
i knew i could never know again,
that i had sworn to forget;
yet upon hearing it,
felt my body swell with its notes
and burst with memory.

you are still one thousand miles

schadenfreudei found love
in your bone structure,
troublingly beautiful
with your soul worn across your lips.

you remind me of the sunshine
i lost in the circles
i left behind
to find someone an ocean
less far.

instead,
i am here,
watching the birds take flight
from the edges of your mouth,
watching their wings curl
with every word
strained with an accent
owned by my ancestors
born on ships.

i want you to tell me again
about the times
you found a purity in his eyes,
the blank skin upon which
they were set like jewels
and those when
you grinned cheekily
when i told you how
terribly beautiful
you really were.

i find myself wis

incendiaryit was the city -- you know, a self-contained organism, a microcosm of reality in which we all take part. it's like a play, with our very orchestrated roles rehearsed perfectly until we can pull them off as smooth as ice.

it doesn't matter which city, because really, they're all the same -- paris, milan, barcelona...lawrence, pittsburgh, atlanta.

what matters is only that we were in the city. i was myself, playing the role of a love-struck jeweler, praying i could find just the right gem to put on my lover's finger someday, and she was herself, playing the role of sara.

sara, my love; sara, my heart; sara, the snow beneath my feet, the i

i don't have the heart to call it summer lovewe drank sparkling water
with the sun stripping us down
to our barest elements.
we were the wind,
two hearts in the air,
unanchored and set at sea.

you would wear your hat
loosely like a ribbon
of air on the top of your head,
and smile with your whole face;

you would imagine what i looked like
in only my underwear
until the next hour when your
curiousity eased,
your hands becoming excavation
shovels, revelling in discovery-

i had liked you best
when you were naked
on my bed,
head between your knees
as you caught your breath.

this was the last time
i felt good about you,
the last that it was safe
to sink myself into you

the renewal of purgingi am sick.
i am curled around the toilet
like a cat in sunlight,
cradling it like my one and only,
cheek rested on the sill,
a makeshift window;
it is a terrible thought.

the bowl is a vignetted glimpse
into my body,
almost pure art
in its portrayal,
unabstracted,
of my insides.
that is what it is:
my insides.

it is a photograph
of my feelings.
i know this makes me sick
but i imagine i am a bird, still
neither locked by air nor earth,
and i feel a little
lighter.

the lines on my skin, however,
insist that i am human.
i am afraid that they will
glow
in the aftermath of friday,
so i pretend a little more,
a little mo

the first, renewedit was more like a deep-necked well
than anything else -
the feeling that swallows you whole
like a fish gasping for mouthfuls
of sea water, begging for another
shot of life, a glimmer of happiness,
a shock to the heart
that felt light instead of like
the anchor tied to your chest.

all i'm thinking is how
his lips were so soft,
it was like melting,
and how my own were too harsh and eager;
how he was so warm,
i broke into sweat,
and how he was so gentle
but smart, that i felt
my angel bones reach back
to clutch its spine in shivers.

all i'm thinking is how
something small and cautious
fired a bullet so hard
that i can st

the mat that clung to my backmy story was that
love knew me,
& i knew love;
that we embraced,
our limbs interwoven
like the fabric
of the universe.

it has been two weeks,
& i have two freckles
like tooth marks
right where you left
a bruise,
that last time
i saw you,
the last time
i thought maybe
you could love me
as i am.

the sadness of how
mistaken i was
fills me up now
& blossoms like a flower,
hot tea like twigs & branches
within my bones.

my story has changed thus:
i loved
i lost
i fell
apart.

i hope,
more than the number of wishes
made on the stars tonight,
that one day,
you can be in a relationship
with me
instead of my sickness;

nosiness and lmfaook,
so my night starts out
in fits of sneezing blues
and dark air.
i find myself in fits
as my sheets melt into my body
but my consciousness
is as present as ever,
so please forgive me
when i can't push my skin
into your personal space
and content myself
with personal questions.

i don't know how to feel thunder,
but i'm betting it's like this,
i'm betting it's like
standing under the beads of
hot shower for long enough
that your skin shrivels like a fig's.
all i get is that it's
electric, and i am
so afraid
to imagine what it would be like
to actually touch you
with intent.

look-

i tell you
how this boy
with cotto

the day the sun never rosewhat do you do
when your eyes are already
opened
and still,
imprinted on your eyelids
are scenes and thoughts
and typographical imagery
that are thick
like blood,
and enough
to drive you to madness?

i keep your secrets
and even though
my heart still breaks,
my ongoing refusal
to think of you poorly
does not.

at this hour,
you still have me
kept in the dark,
with a longing in the cellar of my stomach;
it never does leave,
does it?

i wait with
bated breath
and rose flavoured tea
clutched like a crux
in my hand
for the intimation
that maybe,
one day,
you can love me
again.

i miss the complete envelopment
of my b

great peace and beautyi stretch with the branches
overhead, so that i might
grow, so that i might
blossom into something
more beautiful, something
more worthwhile, something
infinitely more than myself.

there is a lot of ugliness
involved in love, and we
shield our eyes to it like
it's the blinding sun,
that blinding truth.

please listen when i say
that the air is too thin
to fill us. please listen
when i say that i can now
understand "too thin." i
want you to hear me tell
you i want to get better,
and i want you to stay
around. i am so afraid
that my body won't, but
even more when i realise
your fingers have become
memories like sound, jus

first datei wanted to hold your hand, but i sat on mine instead.

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More from *ohsostarryeyed

epiphany no. 458i hate having sad showers.
the hot water seeping from the faucet becomes tears,
spilling so much misery onto aching shoulders.
it is so,
so heavy

and just

sore.

like the raw-red skin breathed over by fire
because you are never warm and the wool sweater
round your neck doesn't remember how to
hold you;

like a day-old shoe bite lounging around your heels
when you insist on wearing those pumps another day
even if your feet bleed;

the first time in your childhood your mother isn't here to tuck you in.

sore like hearing only your echo when you scre

i don't have to be pretty,i want to tell you
something alarming,
the kind of alarming firemen show up at
cold doorsteps for,
burning,
uprising,
five-alarm with
screaming sirens and
hot walls and
pressing bodies,
loud sweat and
air so
heavy, it's empty

i want you and i lie,
i will la la la-la lie
b e t w e e n the
s pa c e s in my teeth
but you will see through
me like a
white shirt
worn in the rain

i don't know where you are
or why you're
letting me ramble,
like rose hedges
and brambles,
heavy thorns turned to
p a p e r w e i g h t s
in an infinite love affair
with everything re(a)d

i'll catch you on fire and watc

a city's kiss"you look rough."

"like sandpaper, baby."

"what's wrong?"

"i'm the pg-version of the rock-bottom girl. got my big-ass cup full of...tea. sitting on the curb with my hand subtly in my pocket...texting. texting my mother. i'm asking her to pick me up. chewing gum like it's tobacco. instead of rotting my teeth, i'm preventing cavities."

"are those the clothes you wore yesterday?"

"absolutely. got lost in the city after..."

"after?"

"no. are you going to make me talk about it?"

"most certainly. were you hurt?"

"funny question. ask a better one."

"was it a boy?"

"ugh. well, yeah."

"tell me about him."

"well see, i don't really talk to

don't you darei am not angry, no, i have
forgotten the shaking elbows and
shaking knees and shaking fingers and
shaking wrists and shaking thighs;
i am tired and tired and tired
and tired and tired and tired and
tired and tired and i love you.

that is my soul you are swallowing,
that is my soul with the hungry, cumbersome teeth
latching onto open wounds and peeling skin
like emaciated peaches, the soft tickle already
m elt ing.

we have lost the numbers stained on
our hands, bruised our knuckles in fruitless attempts
to colour it bad; bad to bad, bad to worse.
you are no shape i ever wish to take,
you are no curve i ever wish to forget.
yo

morning thoughtsi woke up and suddenly you were
not real anymore.
it felt like invisibility, it felt like alone
it was the world taking away
my sense of colour, an empty friday night.
you were only a shadow because
that's all that unrequited memories are.

it's the week after the death of
your pet bird but you still keep the
copper wire cage because you
just can't bear to stow it away so
instead you expect to hear his
songs and a silly little coo when you
cast your eyes like a fishing rod
between the red bars and it slaps you
across

never met a letterhello,

i am growing my hair out
for you. soon the birds
will entangle themselves in it
and twist nests, nettled
with twigs, into miniature
huddles. they will squirm,
robin's eggs mirroring the
waning tides, and swallow the
spring.

you make me feel like i am
supposed to be the sun
instead of a stupid girl
with her flat hat and cat eyes.
i swath myself in
manufactured clouds, drawing
a long white face still
heavy enough to
drown a soul.

i am the ugliest clam in
this aquarium,
printed with the illusion that
inside my mundane shell,
i hold a shellacked pearl on
my tongue. you will pry
me open at the hinges, rusted
copp

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[x]

his mother in reading

by *ohsostarryeyed, Sep 30, 2011, 11:26:19 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

it might've been the weight
she gained in her
hips and stomach
while bearing
her only child,
or the heft of responsibility
brought on by jobs and bills
and eviction notices,
but she wasn't beautiful
anymore.

some key element
left her skin empty
and let it sag
and slump like her shoulders.
she looked like wet laundry
hung like papier mache
streamers dragged down
by a cold summer rain.

it choked the life out of her
i can see it in her eyes
in her face
she just sits in front of the television
she doesn't feel love anymore-

telling a story that has no end,
breaking her heart just to feel again-
there is a big nothing
where love should be.

his mother in readingby *ohsostarryeyed

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2011-2013 *ohsostarryeyed

a piece i've been writing for ages after a skype call
d, i wish my usb ports worked, i miss you

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

!Sana-girl Dec 18, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

This is so sad and it made my heart ache because I can actually see the change from a beautiful young woman to this. And you know that somewhere deep down there's that beautiful person, but theyre so far buried that its impossible to find them again, so impossible that theyre practically dead.

I love your similes, love

Theyre gorgeous, and I like the change of theme and focus in this piece from your usual writing.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 27, 2012

oh, thank you so much, my dear

Reply

Mood: dA Love

~Iceblueeyedgirl Dec 3, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Sad and Wonderful all at the same time you definetly have talent lovely!!! <3

Reply

~Marmonica Oct 6, 2011

Your writing seems effortless. I'm so jealous

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 6, 2011

haha, no need to be jealous, lovie!

Reply

~Den12 Oct 2, 2011

<3 you. Interesting peice.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 6, 2011

thank you!

Reply

~Den12 Oct 6, 2011

you're welcome.

Reply

~sans-lillith Oct 1, 2011 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

"she looked like wet laundry
hung like papier mache
streamers dragged down
by a cold summer rain."

This is a very beautiful stanza--Beautiful piece over all.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 2, 2011

thank you so much!

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